👿 Open Post 3

[blastedass]

Open Post

What to hit up Bakugo for some action? Feel free to do whatever here!



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[blastedass]

Why be subtle when the news has already covered Dynamight's disappearance? No word, no demand, no rationale, for many days. Until that one call parsed through three lines before finally reaching the intended recipient. Request kept simple, direct, to come alone with no tails, no wires, no traces. Likely more disturbing being the offhand comment about keeping "all your feathers" accounted for, though Hawks can make of that what he wants when the line goes dead.

Why did they target him? He can't say. Their words the past few days have been little more than taunting his failure as a hero to keep himself from getting swiped again and the mocking commentary on how someone as strong as Dynamight had let himself be captured. No one told him the reason behind grabbing him, though any time one of them got close enough, he lashed out at them with the same viciousness expected from someone of his power and reputation. Considering they haven't killed him and there's no shit talk about trying to convert him to their side, Bakugou surmises he's being kept alive. Villains only keep their captives alive for a few leveraging reasons: ransom, trophies, trade... or bait.

An odd mixture of soft and scratchy presses against his cheek. Feels like he's lying in a damn field of grass. Sight is out of the question, thanks to the blindfold around his face, hooked around his head and lower jaw in addition to prevent him from working the item off with head movements. It wouldn't really matter that much anyways, considering the crushing grip of metal around his wrists that lock Bakugou's hands palms-first against his own face. Wouldn't want him to use his Quirk to get out here now would they? Unless he finds the cost of his visage and/or eyes a worthwhile price for just an attempt at escape. There's no promise he'd make it, and then what would the price have been worth? Nothing.

But where he is, he can't hear much of anything save for the two voices nearby, hired thugs from the sound of it. But they have guns and he's in no position to wriggle against the binds on his legs and arms to think he can escape getting shot. Whoever these assholes are, they're taking great precaution to make sure he's bound, gagged, blinded, stopped. Prevented from doing anything but be what they want him to be. The sheer humiliation and vulnerability of his current state threatens to blow a fucking blood vessel in pure rage.

Back to Hawks' side of things, he's not wrong in his counting of the assailants stacking the place. Rafters. Corners. There are quite a number of people here. No further sound emanates from the room while Hawks removes what's asked of him, though it would be impossible not to feel their eyes lingering on him. It's only when he asks that question does a sudden spurt of action lash out behind him. Grey silken threads snap onto the discarded material and drag them backwards into the shadows, the muffled sound of the whole group being gathered up following soon after, though oddly growing fainter as if muffling.

"Magnificent." *clop clip clop* The unmistakable herald of dress shoes on hard floor, soon stepping into the halo of light shining on the hero. Followed by the legs of white pants, tasseled ends of a lilac scarf, the hem of a snowy dress jacket, black lapels, white button-down shirt, and a casually loosened red tie. Early middle age, 35 years being a scant few too high for him, but kept well with a sort of roguish charm in a thin close-cropped chinstrap beard and matching mustache. Violet eyes immediately take a roaming wander of the hero in front of him as he rests his hands behind his back. "Finally. Out of your cage at last."

[redfeathers]

Even as his eyes scan the darkness around him, Hawks is focusing on the vibrations in the air around him. The way those clothes are dragged away, the sound of people moving and gathering, the continued sound of breathing. Nothing, for the moment, that's noticeably dangerous. Though he figures if they'd gone through all this hassle to snatch up Bakugou and drag him out here, they wouldn't go the obvious routes. Whatever these guys have in mind, it's something they've put plenty of effort into to make sure they can catch him off guard in someway.

He can play along, for now.

So he doesn't hide the way his eyes are drawn to the flicker of motion to one side of his vision that matches the sound of encroaching footsteps. A specific kind of shoe, he can tell, with expensive fabric that slides against different fibers in a distinct way. He doesn't need to look at this guy to know whatever he's wearing is probably gaudy in an attempt to be fancy, and the figure that emerges into his field of vision proves as much. The more important thing, though, is that Hawks doesn't recognize this guy at all - not his outfit, the sound of his voice, or his face. That isn't a good sign, but he doesn't let himself think on that. What matters is focusing on what he can see and figure out for himself - what will get him to Bakugou or get out the truth of whatever this guy wants.

Out of your cage at last.

That, he thinks, is all the answer he needs. It's proof of what he'd already suspected: Bakugou was never the intended target here. It's a hassle these guys went through all this for him, but he understands why. You don't get someone like him into positions like this without making a dangerous play, and the more he thinks about this, the more he finds himself thinking that getting out of this warehouse is going to take longer than he'd hoped. At least he doesn't need his gear to fight or defend himself.

"All this for me?" He replies, whistling softly in mock amazement. His shoulders lift in a shrug, hands lifting at his side to turn his palms up towards the ceiling. "You could have saved us both some time by calling my PR team. They're all about setting up meetings with the fans. Good for the ratings, you know?" You wouldn't think he's standing across from a very real threat, let alone on his guard based on how easily he talks, the air of lightheartedness that carries every word. At least if he can get this guy talking, he can start getting an understanding of what's really happening here.

"So what can I do for you? Autograph, selfie, flirty voicemail? I'm always happy to do something for a fan." There's an easy motion between them, as if he's done this song and dance hundreds of times now. "I'll even consider a special request since you went through all this trouble."

[blastedass]

Whatever's got his shed clothes and gear has them all stored away nicely now, no more noise from them being made in the darkness. Those around them remain where they are, watching and ready, though it's hard to tell whether they're on guard or preparing to attack. Nothing immediately surrounding feels aggressive. They seem to be spectators rather than predators. Spectators that might be able to change to predators, however. Who knows. Whatever they are, they seem to resonate more with the man that Hawks is now facing than anything else, relaxing some when he appears.

"Why would I offer anything less?" The man seems not at all surprised at the facetious question. He opens his arms as if in presentation, with the object of that presentation being none other than Hawks himself. There's something about him that seems to match the winged man in suave manner, like he's more than happy to talk to him on the same level. "Come now, I couldn't very well call your PR team like you were some common hero." To expect Hawks to arrive at his beck and call would have been beneath the man to even consider. But he does expect the comment to reveal the intended reason for Dynamight's capture. Nothing draws out the king like a few sacrificial pawns. Or in this case, live bait.

When Hawks begins to list the things he could do for him, the man's expression flickers with a mild show of surprise, before smoothing over with amusement and a genteel manner. He rests one hand behind his back, the other offered to the side as if intending to show Hawks something. "I'm afraid you've got the wrong idea. You see, I'm not a fan, my dear boy. I'm merely... a collector."

At the words, several ring-like crescents begin to glow around the room, appearing in the darkness like so many strange smiles. Before they move forward. The direction that Hawks' belongings disappeared in is soon invaded by a woman in a business suit. Extending from her ribs are four black spider legs, from one of which dangles a webbed-up bundle of Hawks' items. Another is a bare-chested young man with the lower body of a horse. A third is a man with a shark's tail, black eyes, and sharp teeth to go with his webbed taloned hands. A pair of young adult twins, one boy, one girl, who look akin to stereotypical western devils, though rather than red or black, their additional wings, horns, and tails are white compared to their dark skin. Three others as well, each of them sporting an bestial-themed Quirk quite visible outside their human bodies. But unlike other mutant-types, theirs have generally left their looks alone, lacking any real deformities that might make them look inhuman, unlike other Quirks such as Gang Orca and Centipeder.

Those glowing rings quickly reveal to be metallic collars about their throats, slim and smooth, but luminous in their appearance. Hawks is a smart man. He should be able to put the pieces together well enough. "And I have waited a long time for the chance to acquire you."